


Marked

by dizzzylu



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fingering, M/M, PWP, Schmoop, bareback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's a marked man. That's just the way Gwaine likes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was nerve-wracking for a few reasons: (1) new fandom! (2) period fic! (which I am typically not a fan of) (3) british vernacular. Add to that this was a Christmas gift for my bb perfumaniac who is my go-to beta and has exacting standards.

The thing Gwaine loves most about Merlin is also the thing he hates most: that every single person in Camelot underestimates him. Underestimates him to the point of taking advantage of him, yes. Underestimates him to the point of treating him like little more than horse manure on their shoe, at times. Gwaine himself is not entirely innocent of the last.

But what they don't see is Merlin's heart. How much he truly cares for the people in his life, even when they play juvenile jokes on him, treat him like so much trash and don't bother to apologize for it later. Call him stupid and weak and clueless. 

And Merlin? Merlin takes it all and infinitely more, hiding a secret he shouldn't have to. Overplaying the bumbling idiot role to disguise how strong he is. How _fearless_ he can be, so long as it saves Arthur's life. 

Sodding Arthur.

Gwaine gets he. He, too, has been underestimated. Sometimes plays up the drunken lout routine either to gain an advantage over a giant, brainless brute in the middle of a tavern brawl or, more importantly, to make his opponents think they'll have an easy time of it in any of Arthur's various and sundry tournaments.

In fact, it wasn't so long ago that King Uther himself was underestimating Gwaine, assuming he knew all there was to know and banishing Gwaine from Camelot between one breath and the next. 

So yeah, Gwaine knows what it's like. And if he's the only one who gets to appreciate Merlin the way Merlin deserves? Well, Gwaine is perfectly ok with that. Especially on the rare morning when they get to wake up together; sun barely peeking over the horizon, Merlin long and heavy-limbed and clinging to him, his perfect pink lips parted, breath gusting cool over Gwaine's nipple. 

Gwaine skims his palm along Merlin's back, following the curve of it from shoulderblade to the dark space between his legs, still slick and a little sticky with oil and come. Between them, Merlin's cock twitches, soft against Gwaine's thigh, and he rubs the perineum with two fingers, drags his nails over it once, then again. Merlin stirs, makes a soft, thick sound deep in his throat, and his legs open just a little bit more, hips pressing into Gwaine.

Smiling, Gwaine eases himself onto his side, facing Merlin. He takes it slow, his hand gripping Merlin's hip so Gwaine can reposition him without waking him up too much. The adorable little snuffling sounds Merlin makes as he nuzzles into Gwaine's chest makes his heart clench, and he pauses to push a hand through Merlin's hair, shushing him.

It takes a little patience, but Gwaine manages to get Merlin flat out on the bed without waking him and the sun is barely up yet, the sky still a rich, star-spangled blue. On the table next to the bed is the candle Merlin sometimes reads by. Gwaine fumbles with the box of matches until it's lit. The light isn't much, only illuminating one half of the bed, but it's enough to turn Merlin's pale skin gold.

Straddling Merlin's legs, Gwaine takes in the sight, the mouth- and finger-shaped bruises dotting his back and shoulders. There's a rather nasty-looking one where Merlin's arm meets his torso, wide and blue-black. Gwaine brushes his thumb over it, frowning, unable to recall how he made that one, until he remembers: Arthur pawning Merlin's services off on the latest visiting king as a courtesy. The wanker accidentally-on-purpose grazing Merlin with his mace. If Gwaine hadn't been there to shout out to Merlin, the damage would have been far worse, of that Gwaine has no doubt.

Gwaine leans down to kiss him, following the line of marks he made from the night before. It parallels Merlin's spine, culminating in an impressive mark in the dip of his back, just above the cleft of his arse. The spot is one of Gwaine's favorites, soft and supple, unseen by anybody but him. Not even Merlin himself knows the precise texture of the skin there, how it feels to brush a kiss over it. How it tastes faintly of hay, and sour from Merlin's sweat.

The tips of his hair graze the skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It sends a shiver up Merlin's spine; Gwaine can feel the tremor of it underneath the fingertips he's been skimming back and forth over the swell of Merlin's arse. With every stroke, he comes closer and closer to Merlin's hole, keeping his touch light, careful. 

His thumb circles Merlin's rim; the drag of skin on skin barely eased by the oil from the night before. Despite that, Merlin opens to him easily, the tip of Gwaine's thumb sinking into Merlin's tight heat. His cock throbs as Merlin clutches at him, and Gwaine slicks a finger through the precome pearling from his slit, smears it over his thumb to slip in further.

Merlin's legs shift, stretching long and wide. His arms move, too, hands skimming underneath the pillow to paw blindly at the bed frame above. It creaks when slim fingers wrap tight around it. 

Gwaine leans over then, cock nestled against Merlin's ass, and reaches for the small pot of oil on the bedside table. He dips two fingers in, only to the second knuckle, while at the same time mouthing wetly at the hinge of Merlin's jaw, scraping over it with his teeth. Gwaine can feel Merlin's cheeks tighten into a smile; in his mind he can see the sleepy softness of it, lips pink and plush, the glint of white teeth just beyond. Early like this, Merlin doesn't hold anything back. Not from Gwaine, who is only too ready to return the favor.

"Hold on," Gwaine rasps, nipping at an earlobe as his fingers stretch Merlin open without mercy. Two at once, just enough slick to ease the way, but not enough so Merlin won't feel it throughout the day. The way they both like it.

Merlin is eager already, hips tilting up and thrusting back, burying Gwaine's fingers to the hilt. His heat is searing, tight and clenching, and Gwaine has to wrap calming fingers around the base of his cock at the tiny mewling sounds Merlin is making. After a breath, two more, he eases out of Merlin, then back in, settling into a slow, steady rhythm. Each drag out, he crooks his fingers, searching. Every once in awhile, he's rewarded with a high-pitched keen, a sudden thrust of hips.

"Gwaine," Merlin murmurs eventually, careful. It hurts that it means so many things at once, some of which have nothing at all to do with Gwaine and everything to do with Arthur. For a moment, Gwaine's thrusts turn brutal, fingers scissoring open, even though he knows first-hand how unpleasant that can be. It's stupid and selfish and he doesn't care. He wants Merlin's head here, with him. Now _and_ later, when he's repairing the King's chainmail or cleaning his boots or preparing his bath. 

Gwaine doesn't realize he's been growling until he hears Merlin's hiss. He's looking over his shoulder at Gwaine, lids heavy. "C'mon," he says, tilting his hips up, legs falling open impossibly wide. Propping himself up with a hand on either side of Merlin's shoulders, Gwaine stretches over him, skin meeting skin from chest to pelvis. He rocks against Merlin a few times, a preview of the rhythm he intends to set, then takes himself in hand, thumb circling through the precome pooling in the foreskin, and sinks into Merlin slow and steady. 

"Fuck," Merlin grinds out, arching his back as if it'll bring him closer to Gwaine. The move draws him tight around Gwaine's cock, keeping him from pulling out just yet. Gwaine is too happy to wait, drops his forehead to the nape of Merlin's neck and digs his teeth into the knob of his spine. It's only when Gwaine realizes Merlin is about to contradict his earlier admonishment that he pulls out, reveling in the dull burn of too little lubrication.

He doesn't hold back after that, setting a rough pace that pins Merlin to the bed, hands clenching on the wood, the pillow, in the sheets. Fists them in Gwaine's hair when it falls into his face, pulling Gwaine to him to nip brutal kisses into his lips. In a blink, Gwaine sees a flash of gold, hears Merlin muttering foreign words into Gwaine's beard. A pulse of heat surrounds them, expands. 

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," Merlin spits out suddenly, louder than usual. Gwaine would laugh if he weren't breathless, intoxicated by the heat of Merlin bearing down on him, unyielding.

Gwaine lets loose, too, groaning loud as he bites into the meat of Merlin's shoulder, sucks at the pulse in his neck, scrapes his teeth over the fine skin behind Merlin's ear. The last one has Merlin arching his neck, giving Gwaine room. It's an invitation Gwaine will never turn down.

Like this, Gwaine isn't going to last long. He never does, really, since they don't get as much time together as he would like, but he wants Merlin there first. His hand slips under them both, fingers still a little slippery, and circles them around Merlin's cock. Grinning, he finds Merlin leaking, slicking the sheets and his groin. Not that Gwaine cares; anything to make his job easier, especially with his brutal rhythm and the awkward angle of his wrist.

Out of habit, he muffles his moans against Merlin's shoulder blade, lapping at the salt-bitter sweat with his tongue. "Fuck, _Merlin_ ," he groans, hand working over Merlin's cock in a blur. It doesn't take long after that for Merlin to come, his eager hips faltering, Gwaine's name spilling from his lips in rough whimpers. The searing grip of him is too tight, and Gwaine follows him soon after, his come finally easing the rough drag of his cock..

Eventually they calm, their heaving chests stilling once they've gotten enough air. Merlin shifts underneath Gwaine, adjusting to better accept the extra weight. From where Gwaine's head has fallen to Merlin's shoulder, he can see the bloom of a bruise behind his ear, where one of Merlin's ubiquitous scarves won't do any good. Pride swells hot in Gwaine's chest as he brushes his thumb over it, applying a gentle pressure.

"You did that on purpose," say Merlin, quiet. Amused. 

Gwaine hides his grin against Merlin's skin and says, "I have no idea what you're talking about." Merlin pinches Gwaine's arse then, smiling. Gwaine retaliates by pinking the skin of Merlin's shoulder with his beard.

With a hiss, Merlin worms his way out from under Gwaine, careful to pull away slow, and tangles their legs together. Face to face finally, they kiss; the first of the morning. It's soft, quiet, their breaths sour. Gwaine palms Merlin's bony hip, skims it over his arse, fingers searching. Cautiously, he slips them between Merlin's legs to find his come, sticky-slick. On instinct, Merlin makes room for him and, ignoring a whimpered hitch of breath, Gwaine scoops up what he can and pushes it back in. When he's done, he circles one gentle fingertip around the rim, slow, soothing the ache there. Merlin hums, pleased.

The lie together, smiling, breaking the silence every so often with their hushed, teasing voices. Slim fingers scratch through Gwaine's beard, smooth sweat-damp hair from his face. He turns into the touch again and again, mouthing at Merlin's knuckles, the heel of his palm. Too soon, and with a heavy pang of regret, he notices the first rays of the sun spilling golden pink through the window. Merlin becomes aware at the same time, regret dimming the light in his eyes.

"None of that, now," Gwaine says, palming the crown of Merlin's head and pulling him close. They kiss again, a quiet clinging of lips that turns needy in an instant; Merlin clutching at Gwaine's arms as if he's disappearing right before Merlin's eyes. Gwaine can't stop his chuckle, shushes Merlin with quick kisses to his lips, his cheek, the thin skin of his eyelids. It's hard to gather the strength to pull away from Merlin, but he does, reluctant, and sits up in the bed, propped against the wall, watching with hawk-like eyes as Merlin gets dressed. 

Merlin eyes him back a few times, focusing on the pool of sheets at his waist. Gwaine arches a brow at him, smirking, and lowers them further, exposing his soft cock.. The cool air feels good; the flirtation with Merlin making it even better.

Too soon, though, Merlin is all tidied up. For anyone not looking too close, Merlin is fine, but Gwaine recognizes the small wince, a stiffness in his legs. More obvious is the mark behind Merlin's ear, a dull, dark bruise Merlin could never hope to hide. Part of Gwaine thinks (hopes) Merlin wouldn't want to anyway. He grins wide and shifts onto his knees, walks to the end of the bed to thumb at the skin. Like this, Merlin is a couple inches taller than Gwaine; the perfect angle for him to spear his fingers through Gwaine's hair and guide him into a kiss. It lasts too long and not long enough, Merlin pulling away this time, Gwaine's mouth following, landing instead on Merlin's chin.

"When can you come back?" Merlin asks, gaze focused on the ratty cuff of his sleeve.

Gwaine sighs. "I start night watch tonight."

Merlin nods, but doesn't say anything. Then, "Maybe we'll get a day off soon." There's no conviction behind it, though, and Gwaine has to bite back a snort.

"Soon," Gwaine says instead, watching Merlin's fingers flutter at the bruise over the pulse in his neck, hidden by his scarf. He tugs at the laces of Merlin's breeches, lets Merlin lean in for one last, lingering kiss. Once Merlin has left, Gwaine's gaze falls about the room, searching for his own clothes as he contemplates the day. He decides against visiting the tavern yet again to spend the rest of his morning off here, in sheets that smell like Merlin.

Later, after night has fallen and Merlin thinks he'll be spending the first of many nights alone, Gwaine will stop by the tavern to pick up a jug of ale, maybe a few pickled eggs. From there he'll flirt with the kitchen staff until they relinquish the leftover bread and cheese, then head to Merlin's room, skirting around a sleeping Gaius, and set about marking that gorgeous, flawless skin in all new places.


End file.
